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#in the remarkable and mediocre

mindofserenity · 1 month

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شكر

Acquire the skill of amazement.

Not only through sunsets and mountains but in the normality of life. Find yourself to be thankful in every way of life. You will learn to be grateful for all your blessings that we so often undermine and gain the joy of it.

Find beauty in the remarkable and in nothingness.

— mindofserenity

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wojit · 6 months

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First minute of Demon City Shinjuku was the best bit of the movie.

#me watches films #You don't gotta watch the rest of it now #It's remarkably mediocre

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unclewaynemunson · 10 months

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Water was wet. Nights were dark. And Steve Harrington was straight. Those were all facts. Sure, Steve could see what made a man attractive, but that merely meant he wasn't blind, not that he wasn't straight. He loved girls. He loved holding delicate hands, he loved feeling soft curves underneath his fingers, he loved the taste of lipgloss on his lips, legs sticking out of skirts, the sound of high-pitched giggling, elegant feet in high heels...

So yeah, even if he saw what made a man attractive, he was still straight. Even if he could, hypothetically, see himself being attracted to some abstract man in some abstract scenario, he was still straight. He loved girls, so who cared if every now and then, he would turn his head to stare at a strong pair of male arms or a particularly well-shaped male bum? Who cared if, by high exception, he could lose himself in some fantasies of doing certain things with a guy instead of a girl? He loved girls. He would fall in love with a girl, and she with him, and they would get married and have kids, and he would be perfectly happy with that. So he was straight. It was a fact.

Or, well, it was a fact until it wasn't. Until the most mundane afternoon possible happened. Until he was sitting on the steps in front of the Munsons' trailer, with Eddie beside him and a sixpack placed between the two of them. It was one of those early spring days, when birds chirped louder and the sun made all the colors pop out just a little bit more and life was good.

Their beer wasn't cooled properly. Their snacks were very mediocre. They weren't talking about anything remarkable. And yet, they were only one moment away from Steve's whole sense of identity changing irrevocably. They were headed right towards a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

Maybe deep down, he knew that he had been falling for a while, but he was an expert at ignoring inconvenient things. He had been able to call it friendship, or fascination, or even annoyance when he needed to get creative. So later, whenever someone would ask him when he fell in love with Eddie, he would always go back to this particular moment.

Eddie laughed about some lame joke Steve made and took another sip of his beer. And Steve's senses zeroed in on him like he had just unlocked some higher plane of existence. He noticed everything like he had never done before. The movement of his adam's apple when he swallowed, the curve of his neck, the way his curls cascaded over his shoulders looking as soft as sheep's wool... And, when he tilted his head back and looked at Steve again, the color of his eyes when the sun hit them just right: brown as rosewood and dark chocolate and acorns. As a small piece of autumn undefeated by this early spring day.

He felt an overwhelming urge to clash his lips against Eddie's right there, to feel stubble instead of lipgloss and wrap his arms around someone who was made of sharp edges instead of soft curves, to hold a big hand adorned with rings that were anything but delicate, to hear deep laughter instead of high-pitched giggles, maybe even a low moan against his ear...

It was in that moment that he understood what it really meant to be straight – and that it wasn't what he was.

He understood that it didn't matter how much he loved girls. It didn't exempt him from loving boys, and he couldn't choose who he'd fall in love with like he thought he could. He loved this boy right in front of him, the one who was currently talking a mile a minute and didn't notice a thing about the current drastic renovation of Steve's entire brain chemistry. And if he allowed himself to keep falling, he might just end up loving boys just as much as he loved girls.

---

(idc how overdone the eddie-being-steve's-bi-revelation trope is, you can pry it from my cold dead hands. Here's yet another version of it and yes i will project my own experience on steve, no one can stop me)

#bi!steve ftw no i won't take criticism #i should be doing tourist stuff but instead i wrote this whoops #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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goldsbitch · 3 months

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Just don't talk----

-and please bite me like you did before.

p5 to Just don't talk

summary: Enemies to lovers on steroids. Lando is so bored at a gala event that he overcomes his grudge and makes a request he never expected to make.

warnings: not for minors, cursing, biting kink, typos!!! not checked yet

It was yet another of the FIA gala events that were not to be missed by the drivers. Not even if they wanted to, which was something that Lando had wanted to opt for. But no, he was told specifically to be there - and he didn't respond well when somebody was ordering him around. Unless it was a girl in his bedsheets, especially one specific girl.

She was sat quite a few seats away from him, which he found to be a relief. He was still mad at her - either at her being a super calculating bitch or at her not having a grip on her own team. Nevertheless, he was still pissed, not planning on going back to fooling around with her and risking his career. She made him mad. The way she just sat there, laughing, looking all cute and innocent. As if she really was. Only he knew how she liked to dominate him in bed, how wild she was and how far from innocent she could be.

It made him furious. Why did she had be such a bitch? Also, why were all of of the people he was sat close to someone so annoyingly dull? He considered that to be a crime. The worst thing one could do - be boring.

It must have been a 50th joke he had to pretend to laugh at. At this point, all he wanted to do was to escape. But he was mad, mad at the fact he had to waste time here, angry that this was one of the things that he had to endure in order to have this job and furious that she was flirting with some random executive from a sponsor. As if that guy was in any way a match to him. He wasn't fit, attractive and from the little of what he heard, he was far from funny. Plus, what had he done for Y/N with regards to her regarding her career? Unlike Lando, this guy had done shit.

My god, was he bored. He couldn't stand one more remark from the guy sitting opposite to him. He had to get out. Fuck it all, he said internally, not being as sober as one should be at these events.

"Come and meet me at the bathrooms," he texted to Y/N. He burned her with his look until she read the text. She looked puzzled and he just looked at her with a look that suggested she didn't really have a choice. So she nodded slightly and left few moments after him, not to raise any major attention.

She wasn't sure what this was about. Still had their last argument in fresh memory and was not looking forward to living it all over again. But, she felt obligated to at least go and talk to him. She was taken back a lot, when the mood she was met with once she found him in one of the men's stalls was not a look of anger.

"I want you to bite me again," he stated simply, as it was the most normal thing in the world.

"What?" she asked, puzzled. Shock wave ran through her.

He ached from the inside. Needed a hit of any excitement available - and she was the best one out of all of them. Not that he would ever admit it.

"I'm bored. I'm so bored I'd rather be burning alive waiting in a never-ending line at the grocery store than get back to that table. I am fed up by mediocre conversation, people saying this and that, same shit all the time and I have to sit and smile at the right people. Bite, please" he said, eyes sending shockwaves towards her. She has seen lots of intense looks on him, but not this. It took her a bit by surprise.

"Don't tell me you're not bored out of your mind too. I see the way you look, so desperate for fun. I can show you fun." Without breaking the eye contact, he walked few steps towards her. "I know what you like," he knew she was super sensitive the first time he would touch her during their nightly sessions. Before she got used to his body temperature, she would always shiver a bit. Not from cold or warmth. But the feeling of his fingertips on her skin. With that thought, he slowly traced the line of her arm with a light touch, moving from elbow, to shoulder, where he did few circles and then as a cheeky fuck boy he was, he went for the top line of her dress, right where is covered her chest.

"Bite me, come on. I like it," he said, putting his finger over her lips. She licked it slowly. "That's my girl." He was challenging her with his eyes, had the same look as her had right before a race. "Come on."

Something shifted in her, inhibitions gone away before she could say "stop".

"Take your shirt off," she ordered without missing a beat. Lando bit his lips, smiling and began on working his shirt off. She just watched, not participating, calculating her move. She loved having his full attention. Knowing that he was waiting, even probably begging for her to do stuff to him. Oh, what a joy to have that kind of a power.

His shirt was off and he was standing there, anticipating. She knew they had very little time before someone would come in and the risk of a scandal was too big. Yet, she wanted her moment.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Please."

"Please." he whispered with a need that was so honest it made her wet. She closed their distance and kissed him hard. Her tongue danced with his, having a complete upper hand. Then she bit his lip, hard. He reacted immediately with a slight hiss.

"That's not it, my dear," she said and swiftly bent down and put her mouth on a piece of flesh on the side of his waist. It was hard to avoid biting into a muscle on his body, she felt like this would serve good enough. And my god, did this send him to heavens. Her teeth digging to his skin, pain shooting through his left side and all the good emotions coming with it. He gave her a rather loud sign when the pain was too much and she stopped immediately. That was when the emotions started really running in Lando. The same cocktail as last time, but now he was ready and looked forward to taking it all in. The pain shifting into adrenaline, relief and dopamine hitting the right spots. He didn't even notice the sound he made when she released her grip.

She watched him, like an artist would observe his favorite muse. Obsessed with him. How he reacted. How he took pleasure in. She would fuck him right then and there, but sadly, reason stopped her. Also, she wanted to maintain the cool aura this got her. Just feel a little cooler. So she walked away, leaving him with his newly forming bruise alone.

He felt her bite all evening, whenever he turned over to discretely glance over to her, he felt a little tingle in his left side, leaving his constantly reminded of the little slut he was for this girl.

part 6

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@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour

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dilf-lover99 · 2 years

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6:52 | B.L. / S.M.

Pairings: Billy Loomis x Female Reader, Stu Macher x Female Reader

Summary: Reader is the daughter of an FBI profiler and childhood best friends with Billy and Stu. When a killer starts terrorizing her friends she has to choose between following her head or her heart.

Warnings: death, blood, stabbing, violence, swearing, manipulation, kissing, major character death (deviation from cannon), mommy issues, reader is smart but a little naive, ending is open to interpretation

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: happy halloween !! i know it's been a while but hopefully this long ass story makes up for it. please don't cancel me for this, i'm not immune to the charm of a 25 year old slasher film. let me know what you think !

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds.

According to some remarkably arbitrary article you skimmed through in a mediocre issue of Teen Beat, it takes the average person six minutes and fifty-two seconds to determine which movie they’re going to watch.

In six minutes and fifty-two seconds you can brew half a pot of particularly unpalatable coffee in your kitchen. You can listen to your favourite Jeff Buckley song with eight seconds to spare, or drain a teeming glass of water.

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds is also the precise duration of time in which you’ve managed to evade the knife-wielding psychopath who’s killing your friends for sport.

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds.

Now here you stand in Stu Macher’s kitchen, explicitly parallel to the masked executioner, dread trickling deliberately throughout your body, dancing delicately up the incurvation of your spine.

Panic and confusion mingle together earnestly inside as you notice the killer stop before you, scarcely within arm’s reach. He tilts his disguised head at you slowly, almost as though he’s confounded that an armed maniac has been chasing you around the Macher house for the last few minutes.

“Hey...” He murmurs with a strangely familiar resonance, “I’m not gonna hurt ‘ya, Doll.”

Your expeditious breathing slows to a halt. Your face, previously adorned in confusion, is now painted with discouragement as you place who the voice belongs to.

No, you didn’t want to be right. Not this time.

A second unmasked figure appears behind him, holding a horrified and misty-eyed Sydney Prescott in his gangly arms.

“Well,” he draws out with a blinding smile, voice dripping with lunacy, “How do ya like our big reveal, Sunshine?”

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds, you think to yourself indignantly, what a fucking joke.

You were decidedly not a morning person.

This is your first thought, a routinely reoccurring thought at that, as you move to swiftly silence the shrill reverberations of your alarm clock. There’s a distinct lack of routine to your mornings, though you consider it a win in itself being awake before school starts.

You gradually make your way downstairs, adorning an oversized Fresh Prince of Bel-Air t-shirt and the first clean pair of jeans you see, offhandedly reminding yourself to do your laundry.

The house is forebodingly silent, you should’ve long since become accustomed to that. Still you can’t help the acrimonious look you aim toward the note sitting on your kitchen counter, rereading it for the umpteenth time before grabbing yourself some breakfast.

Had to leave town for a case, left you some money for food. Call you when I can - Love Dad

At least he left a note this time you think to yourself despondently.

You don’t blame him for not sticking around, god knows your mom couldn’t either. But at least when she left it was for good. She didn’t resurface every few weeks and pretend to know what was going on in your life, vowing to be more present if given the chance, only to leave the next time a murder happened in some backwater town five thousand miles away from the daughter she swore to stick around for. No, that was all your dad.

You used to admire him, ironically enough. Solving murders and catching the bad guys, he used to be your hero. You and your mom used to allocate hours each day waiting zealously by the phone to hear of his adventures. In the course of time your mom got tired of waiting for your dad to call, eventually she just got tired of him in general. She got tired of you in general.

You never faulted your dad for her desertion, how could you? She left him too. Though you did follow her lead in straying from your perch aside the phone. These days it never rang anyhow.

The sharp honking of a car horn redirects your attention from your melancholic reverie, you grab your bag and set the home alarm before locking the door behind you, grateful for the excuse to be anywhere but your empty house.

“Well don’t you look like a ray of sunshine this morning?” Stu’s voice sounds from the passenger seat of Billy’s car as you smoothly slide into the back.

“What’s ‘a matter? You’re not all freaked about the killer are you?” He questions, turning his lanky body around in the seat so that he’s facing you, his wide dopey grin now on full display.

Right, the killer.

It’s the only story currently circulating on the Woodsboro news, plastered on the cover of every tabloid, not to mention it’s virtually the only thing your friends seem to talk about since it happened.

Casey Becker and her boyfriend Steve Orth were brutally murdered, their remains remorselessly strung up like Christmas ornaments. It should have made you sick to your stomach. But after all the gory photos you’d seen hanging on the cork board in your dad’s office, you couldn’t help the twisted tinge of curiosity that swirled about in your brain. Who did this? Your FBI profiler dad, who specializes in capturing people that commit violent crimes, sure picked a great time to be out of state for work.

“No, but I’m super glad that you always find a way to bring it up. Very well adjusted of you.” You retort with a gentle smile, as you buckle your seatbelt, instantly feeling better at the mere sight of your two best friends.

“Ah, come on. You know we’d never let anything happen t’you. Right, Billy?” He nudges his elbow at Billy, awaiting his agreeance.

“Course not.” Billy states, his voice is gentle but his tone is stern, and you don’t miss the indicative look he flashes Stu. What’s all that about?

“O..kay then.” You make it a point to remember that look. It’s peculiarly akin to the look he gave Stu at the fountain the other morning.

“I didn’t kill anybody” Stu abruptly defended.

“No one’s saying you did.” Billy shot Stu an ominous look of warning.

What the hell are those two idiots hiding?

“My knights in shining armour, truly. However could I repay you?” You deadpan sarcastically, coming to the conclusion that there is definitely something going on. You’re always right about these things. Whatever it is, you’re going to figure it out eventually.

You’ve known Billy and Stu since elementary school, they can’t hide things from you. At least Stu can’t. His facade will shatter like glass if you look up at him with big eyes and an amiable smile. Billy on the other hand, had spent copious amounts of time with you sifting through your father’s research when you were kids, which gave him the invaluable knowledge of how to get away with lying. That and his prodigious poker face.

“Well- And I’m so glad you asked, there’s actually a super easy way to do that. Wouldn’t take too long either-” You don’t even need to look at Stu to know this is another one of his empty-headed innuendos for sex.

“Wouldn’t take too long is right. At least that’s what Tate told me. You might wanna work on that.” You tease, gently squeezing his arm in mock sympathy.

Billy lets out a modest chuckle of approval at your childish rebuttal, sending you a wink in the rear-view mirror when he catches your smile growing at the sound.

You try to ignore the hastening uptick of your pulse at the simple action. He has a girlfriend, you remind yourself remorsefully, he’s your best friend and that’s all.

“Oh really? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that, won’t we?” Stu’s resplendent crystal eyes hold an edge of irritation, but before you can discern the connotation of it, they’re overtaken by the playful mischief you’re certain is a permanent fixture in them.

“Speaking of this whole killer business,” You swiftly steer the subject back, aware of your best friends’ infatuation with the topic, “How’s Sid holding up?”

Of all your friends, the killings had the strongest emotional impact on Sidney. When taken into account that the same thing happened to her mom almost exactly a year ago, it’s something of a wonder that she’s showing up to school at all.

Though Cotton Weary was tried and convicted for the murder of Sidney’s mother, you and your dad always shared a covert belief that somebody else was to blame. When you combed through the evidence, albeit evidence you weren’t legally allowed to see, something felt off about it all. Your dad agreed, stating as much to the local police who were less than receptive of his findings. In essence, they told him to fuck off, that they’d closed the case without the help of the FBI.

You never wavered on your belief that the true perpetrator escaped undetected, and now with the same m.o. being used to kill Casey and Steve, you’re adamant that these cases are connected. Of course you’ve kept this ideology to yourself, not wishing to dredge up any more pain for Sid, the poor girl’s already been through more than her fair share of it.

“More frigid than usual I bet. If that’s even possible.” Stu jokes incautiously.

Billy swats Stu firmly in the chest, glancing at you in the mirror again as Stu lets out a minor yelp, “She’s not so good. I tried to make her feel better, but you know how I am with that sort of stuff” he says unhurriedly.

Unfortunately I do, you think to yourself. Of all the things you love about Billy, patience and understanding are not exactly the top contenders. You imagine his version of consoling Sid ended with her feeling worse.

“At least you tried. That counts for something.” You add optimistically, already preparing to check in with Sid the first chance you get.

“I’m not sure it does,” His eyes are surveying your every feature through the rearview mirror and you’re becoming acutely aware that he’s barely spared a glance at the road since he started driving, you being the sole focus of his attention, “Not with her anyway,” He mumbles out the last part but you manage to piece it together inquisitively.

If you were thinking with your emotions instead of your intellect, you’d have picked up on the nuance of his words and the uncharacteristic benevolence of his gaze. You’d have pieced together sooner that you actually had a chance with Billy Loomis.

The trajectory of your life, the lives of your friends, could have been exponentially juxtaposed if you had only continued to prioritize your mind above your heart.

“Fuck!” Oh god, oh god, oh fuck! Not the most eloquent thoughts in the world, but they’re about all you’ve got since you caught sight of the menacing masked figure jumping onto Sidney, armed with a particularly sharp-edged blade.

You’re vehemently regretting tagging along to what was initially intended to be a girls night with Tatum and Sid.

“Safety in numbers,” Tatum smiled impishly, tugging on your arm in that way she does when she wants something bad enough, “Besides, your dad’s gone too! You and Sid would be much safer at my place.” She brought up a valid point. Although you weren’t as unnerved as your friends at the prospect of being murdered, your strong distaste for spending another night alone in your house was enough for you to give in to your friend’s wishes.

“Alright. I’ll come. But no cheesy rom-coms, we’re watching Seven.” You conceded sooner than Tatum expected. She had a whole speech about the sanctity of friendship planned, but she intended to save it for another time.

“You’ll have to convince Sid. You know how she feels about horror movies.”

“I also know how she feels about Brad Pitt,” You teased with a grin, earning an emphatic giggle from Tatum, “Besides, it’s a thriller not a horror. Randy would die just to roll over in his grave if he heard you right now.”

The plan was to go back to your houses separately and grab your things, Tatum would pick you each up on her way home from practice. The plan changed after you observed Sidney throughout the day. You could tell she was jittery and nervous, despite her fruitless attempts at covering it up, so you went straight to her house together after school.

The two of you briskly passed out on opposite ends of the couch, only awoken by the piercing ring of Sid’s telephone. “Tate’s gonna be a while, she got held up at practice.” Sid relayed the message to you, gingerly rubbing the evidence of sleep from her eyes.

You nodded in understanding, moving from your previous position on the couch and deftly stretching the tender muscles in your back.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water. You want anything?” You asked Sid as the phone resumed ringing, she shook her head no with a comfortable smile and answered the call as you walked toward the kitchen and out of ear shot.

You moved around the kitchen with an air of familiarity, taking your time filling the glass. Your walk back to Sidney turned into a swift jog, confusion and mild alarm made their presence known on your face as you heard her yell “Fuck you, cretin!” into the phone with conviction.

“Sid- Hey, what’s going on?” You moved to comfort her frenzied form, taking over for her shaking hands you swiftly locked the chain on her front door.

“The killer- He… Oh my god!” Her frenetic speech died a merciless death on her lips as she heard the door of her hall closet swing open. Before either of you could register what was happening, the killer was on top of her.

“Fuck!” Sid yelps, flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to escape from the masked lunatic’s grip.

You froze for a moment back there, you aren’t proud of it. All the self-defence lessons and step-by-step protocols for how to survive in a dangerous situation seemed to have vanished from your mind. But now you can hear his voice in your head, stern but compassionately reassuring like it always was, “C’mon (y/n), this is life or death. As much as I wish I could, I can’t always be here with a gun and a vest to protect you. So come on, how are you gonna fight back?” You used to hate it when he did that. Why should a girl your age worry about those things?

Thanks Dad, you silently praise, guess you make the time we spend together count.

You snap out of it instantaneously, bringing down your half-empty glass of water over the killer’s head with considerable force, shattering it to pieces and stunning him long enough for you to send a brutal kick to his side, temporarily removing his looming figure from atop Sidney. You suppress a wince as you notice one particularly long shard of glass has embedded itself deeply into your palm, blood trickling evenly from the gash as you gingerly remove it.

You waste no time grabbing Sidney from the floor, pulling her along with haste as you reach the staircase and begin your ascent. “Wait- The front door is-” She starts before you cut her off, “It’s locked Sid. We don’t have time, he’s right behind us.” She turns to gage the distance and her eyes widen substantially as she sees just how correct you are. He’s right there.

In a matter of nanoseconds the killer grabs ahold of Sidney’s foot, giving it a solid tug. Her hand slips from yours as he drags her down the steps.

“Anything can be used as a weapon, especially when you combine it with the element of surprise.” Your dad’s voice rings through your ears once more as you stormily grab hold of a bulky framed painting from the wall and smash it down onto the killer’s head. He groans and trips back a half-step, just enough distance for you to pull Sidney back up, taking care to hold on extra tightly as you resume your course to her bedroom.

Hightailing it to her room, the two of you close the door behind you, Sidney rushing to alert the police as you make a half-assed attempt to barricade the door shut, working at warp-speed.

The door jolts violently behind you as the killer manages to squeeze his arm through, prompting Sid to bellow out a short scream of terror. You push back on the door with all your body weight, a triumphant smile fighting its way to the surface as you hear the vociferous groan of pain emitting from your pursuer. He pulls his arm back with haste, allowing the door to shut fully behind you.

It’s agonizingly silent. What’s he going to do now? He’s much stronger than you or Sidney, surely he could break down the door. Or stab it with his knife, stab you with his knife. You’re eagerly awaiting his next move. Sid, on the other hand, needs this to be the end of it. She manages to contact the police through her computer, and you can’t deny the pride you feel for her, carrying on despite the clearcut terror she’s just experienced.

You both turn toward the window on high alert, a noise informing you that you’re not alone. You grab the first thing within your reach, Sidney’s hairbrush, and hurl it with impressive force at the figure entering her bedroom.

“Ow! Jesus (y/n)! What the hell’s goin’ on? I heard Sid screaming. The door was locked. Are you guys okay?” Billy questions, pulling himself through the window once he recovers from the hairbrush hit to his temple.

I heard Sid screaming.

How did he know it was Sid who screamed? And what exactly was he doing here anyway?

No, you cut yourself off, there’s no way! It’s Billy, he wouldn’t…

Would he?

When you and your dad made the profile for Maureen’s killer, you determined that it had to be a young adult male between the ages of 16 to 24. You also theorized that he had to know Maureen, the level of rage present in her killing was too personal for a stranger to carry out. Your dad threw around the idea that maybe there were two killers, one with a hunger to be in control, the other just along for the thrill of the hunt.

You remember the day you brought the profile up to Billy and Stu.

The three of you were watching some cheesy 80s slasher in Stu’s spacious living room, Stu’s arm around your waist as your head gently laid on Billy’s shoulder.

“My dad agrees with me you know?” You start, voice overtaking the synthetic screams of whichever big-breasted actress was getting slaughtered on screen, “That it wasn’t Cotton Weary. He actually thinks there were two of ‘em.” Billy and Stu both tense up, causing you to observe them from the corner of your eye.

There was a brief look of alarm on Stu’s face causing your eyebrows to furrow together in confusion. Perhaps you should have kept your reaction subdued, as Billy picked up on it instantaneously. He delicately grabbed ahold of your chin, the pads of his fingertips setting your skin ablaze beneath them, turning your face to his he muttered coldly, “Since when do you care what that asshole thinks?”

Your gaze dropped from his, a frown taking over your lips. He’s right, in a way, but he doesn’t have to say it like that.

“Hey, come on Sunshine, turn that frown upside down, huh?” Stu was his usual sanguine self again in the blink of an eye, that beautiful broad grin already back in its rightful place on his lips, “Who needs him anyway? You got us.”

“Yeah,” You smiled back despite yourself, “Guess that makes me pretty lucky.”

For someone who loves talking about murder so much, he always manages to brazenly shut it down whenever you bring up the profile. The profile that he fits.

How did you never see it before?

“Sid,” You start slowly, taking a gentle step toward the girl who’s wrapped in her boyfriend’s embrace. You’re attempting this with the utmost care so as not to alarm Billy, in case he’s hiding the familiar blade on his person, “This cut on my hand is pretty deep,” It’s true, though you couldn’t care less about it, “Can you come help me with it, please.”

Shit.

Your voice broke on the last syllable and you’re definitive that he noticed.

Billy turns to you with a look of confusion, it’s almost as though he can read your mind. “Your hand?” He questions, not releasing Sid from his grip, “What happened to your hand?” He seems genuinely concerned and you’re beginning to doubt your own instincts. Until Sid pulls away from his grip, a soft thump resounding as something falls from Billy’s pocket.

A mobile phone.

The kind of mobile phone a killer would have if he had just made a menacing, life-threatening phone call to his girlfriend.

Why did you have to be right?

Six minutes and fifty-two seconds. You don’t time it, but that’s how long it takes for you to change into your pyjamas, or in this case one of Dewey’s old t-shirts that less than flatteringly falls below your knees in an Ebenezer Scrooge sort of way, and get situated beside Tatum in one of her twin beds.

Despite the cataclysmic series of events you’ve just been through, you manage a loose smile as you watch Sidney ice her hand after landing a particularly impressive punch on Gale Weathers’ face.

“The pain’s gonna fade in the morning but the pride’ll last. At least mine will, you’re kinda badass, Prescott.” You jest, attempting to quell the foreboding thoughts you’re sure are threatening to chew her up and swallow her whole.

“Ditto,” She motions to your injured hand, all bandaged up thanks to Dewey’s gentle insistence, “I’m sorry it happened, you shouldn’t have gotten hurt saving me.” She concludes, ever the saint.

“Sid, no. Okay? None of that should have happened in the first place.” And I should have seen it coming. You keep that one to yourself.

“Do you really think Billy did it?” Tatum questions from beside you.

“He was there, Tatum.” Sidney replies solemnly.

You zone out of the conversation, even after Sidney leaves the room. You can’t stop thinking about the look Billy gave you as they pushed him into the back of the police car. He was desperate, that much was obvious, but there was something else there too, it was almost like he was heartbroken.

Why would he look at you like that?

Maybe he was upset that you figured him out before he had the chance to gut you like a fish. Maybe it was because he knew Sid would never speak to him again.

Or maybe it was because he couldn’t fathom you believing this about him, you ponder remorsefully, maybe he was innocent.

You’re on edge, anyone with a functioning pair of eyes can see that. But it’s not for the reasons they’d think. You’re not scared of some masked psycho reaching out and slicing your throat. You’re perturbed at all of the eyes that are drawn to you like moths to a flame.

You’d had enough of it before the first period bell even rang.

“How does it feel to be almost murdered?” An immensely insensitive reporter shouted, hovering the microphone unreasonably close to Sid’s face, onlookers gathered around you, awaiting her response with bated breath, “Keep holding that thing in her face and I’ll be happy to ask you the same question.” You threatened half-heartedly, gently maneuvering Sid and yourself through the crowd.

“Hey pretty lady,” Stu’s congenial voice sounds from behind you, firmly knocking this morning’s unpleasant memory from your cranium. He wraps his gangly arms around your middle and bends down a farcical distance to rest his chin upon your shoulder, “Star in any good horror movies lately?” He questions, letting out a chortle at his own words.

“You’re a really emotionally intelligent guy Stu. Anybody ever tell you that?” Your acerbic undertone isn’t lost on him for once as he registers your discomfort.

“Hey- That was- You know I’m just joking, I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re joking, you’re just not very funny.”

Removing his hands from your body, too soon for your liking, you think, he throws himself dramatically against a row of lockers, hands on his heart as he groans in mock agony, “Take it back! Please, take it back!”

He’s an idiot.

An idiot with perfectly carved dimples and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. And you want so desperately not to give in to his theatrics, but you can’t help it, not when those eyes are shining at you like the cascading glimmer of the moonlight. You’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

“Ahhh, there it is,” Stu’s voice still holds that ever-present joking tone, but his eyes are sincere, like he’s desperate for you to pick up on the emotion hiding beneath it all, “Can’t live without that smile. ‘M never gonna let you go.”

Your heartbeat rapidly increases in pace and you all but force yourself to look anywhere but his imprudently handsome face. Stop that, you internalize, best friends, nothing more.

“(y/n), hey. Can I talk to you for a sec?” You don’t need to redirect your gaze to pinpoint the source of the voice.

It’s Billy.

“See ya later, Sunshine.” Stu bids you farewell, placing a gentle lingering kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“I have to get to class.” You turn to walk from Billy, not in the mood to hear whatever tales of deception he’s concocted in the confines of his imagination.

“Just-” He reaches out for your arm, stopping dead in his tracks when you flinch away from his touch, “Give me ten minutes okay? If you hate me after that, then I’ll leave you alone for good.” The sorrow in his voice is enough to keep your feet firmly planted.

“You’ve got,” You spare a quick glimpse at the clock on the wall, mentally calculating how long it’ll be before you’re late to AP Chemistry, “Six minutes and fifty-two seconds. Take it or leave it.”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.” He attempts a smile but it falls faster than it formed.

“I’m not an idiot Billy. Or- Or maybe I am, because I didn’t see it sooner, but-”

“Don’t do that,” His voice resembles a whisper, his eyes are pleading but there’s also an edge in them that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, “Don’t- You know me, right? We’ve been friends since we were kids. Look at me,” His fingers reach out for you, a near imperceptible smile twitching at the sides of his mouth when you don’t immediately recoil, “You know me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

You know in your mind that there’s no reasonable explanation for how it all adds up. He fits the profile. But in your heart, you know he’s telling you the truth. The look in his eyes confirms his words, he wouldn’t hurt you.

Against your better judgement you lean into his touch, his hand finds its way to your cheek, drawing indistinguishable circles above your zygomatic bone with his thumb.

“What about Sid? Have you talked to her?” You feel his body tense up, though he does a good job of keeping his emotions unreadable.

“Yeah. We talked.”

“And?”

“And,” He breathes agitatedly, “We broke up.”

“You what? Well- Are you okay? Is she okay? Oh god, I should go find her.” You softly attempt to maneuver from his grip but his hold tightens slightly.

“She’s the one who dumped me, so I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Does she still think-?”

“No. No, she knows I didn’t do it. But I guess it just wasn’t working out.” If he’s lying, he should make a career out of it. You’re studying every inch of his captivatingly handsome face, and you can’t find a hint of misrepresentation.

“It’s for the best really,” His honeyed gaze settles on your own eyes, your breath hitching noticeably as you take in their mahogany-toned opulence, “Otherwise I couldn’t do this.” His lips are on your own without a moments hesitation.

You know the only intelligent response is to pull away and race to AP Chem, pretending like it never happened. But today you’re letting your heart think for you. And it feels precariously marvellous. You kiss him back with more passion than you knew you were capable of mustering, the years of feelings you’ve hidden away, even from yourself, come spilling out from your lips and land delectably onto his.

Billy moves his unoccupied hand into your hair, giving it a gentle tug, expertly sliding his tongue into your mouth the moment your lips part to release a gentle moan. If this is what it feels like to prioritize your heart above your mind, you’re not entirely confident you’ll ever use your brain again.

The vociferous ringing of the warning bell unwillingly splits the two of you apart, though his forehead still rests contentedly against your own.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, Doll.” His eyes are looking at you with a plethora of unknown emotions and your heart is beating far too fast for you to decipher them.

“Worth the wait?” You question softly.

“Absolutely. Glad the wait’s almost over though.”

The wait’s almost over.

Maybe it was the warning bell, or your AP Chem teacher’s disdain for tardiness, or your ever-hastening heartbeat and affections for a certain brown-eyed boy, but you missed it.

The one and only slip-up he made all day and you were too lovestruck to notice.

Those six minutes and fifty-two seconds would cost you big time.

“Ahh, there’s my Sunshine. Perfect timing!” Stu swings a lanky arm over your shoulders as you catch up to him in the school parking lot. “I just finished spreading the good news,” He states with a cheeky grin, as if you should have any idea what he’s referring to.

“Oh, well are congratulations in order then? How far along are you?” You press a teasing hand to his stomach, grin growing as he sticks his tongue out at you, moving his hands to your sides and giving you a short tickle.

“Oh, ha-ha. She’s a real comedian today, huh?” He narrows his eyes in jest, “I’m talkin’ about the crazy killer get outta school free bash I’m throwin’ tonight. You’re coming of course,” He tells you rather than asks you, though you’ve never had much luck saying no to Stu.

“Another one of your million dollar ideas I presume? ‘Cause there’s nothing totally birdbrained about throwing a curfew-breaking rager with a masked psycho killer on the loose.” You’re not keen on the idea of showing up to some party with everything that’s been happening, not to mention what Sid must think of it all.

Not that you have a right to act all sanctimonious when it comes to Sidney’s feelings, her relationship with Billy was barely over before you had your tongue down his throat.

“Come on, Sunshine, it’ll all mean nothing without you there.”

It’ll all mean nothing.

“What’ll mean nothing?” You question gently, careful to hide the inquisitive edge to your query.

Stu’s eyes widen sizeably as he clears his throat, “Just- Nothing. You’re- You’re coming right?”

After that? You’re definitely going. Tonight you’re figuring out once and for all what this boy’s been hiding from you.

You tried to stay away from Billy, honestly. But the second his eyes met yours in Stu’s living room, you knew it was a futile attempt.

The two of you expeditiously wandered upstairs into one of the many vacant bedrooms available in the Macher house, barely closing the door behind you before your lips were melding together.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this all day,” Billy hums against your lips, placing another searing kiss there before moving his way down to your neck.

Engaging in a moment of passion at a party while an unidentified serial killer roams on the loose may not have been your finest moment but, unintelligently, that was the furthest thing from your mind. Billy’s hands were now sliding delectably slowly underneath the hem of your shirt as his lips continued their pursuit on your neck, that was the sole occupant of your thoughts.

At least it was, until you saw him.

Before you could verbalize the killer’s sudden materialization to Billy, it was too late.

The masked figure hastily removed Billy from your grip, his cold steely blade acrimoniously slashing Billy with ease, ostensibly the knife was even sharper than it looked. Billy’s blood splattered onto your face and you made the split second decision that, this time, a glass of water and a painting weren’t going to protect you.

“(y/n), I need you to remember this part, okay? No matter how scared or tired or hopeless you feel, if you can run, you run! Alright?” You’d heard your dad’s voice more in your head these past few days than you had out loud in months, but at that moment you were simply grateful you’d ever heard it at all.

You didn’t chance a single look behind you, expertly weaving your way through Stu’s house and out the back door. You didn’t glance back even after you’d escaped the house and almost crossed the property line.

Where did all the cars go?

If there were any other choice, you wouldn’t have ran back into the house. But your friends were nowhere to be found and, peculiarly, neither was the killer.

If he was out there looking for you, surely he’d never expect you to go back inside. All you had to do was reach the phone in the kitchen and call 911. The last sight you were prepared to see was the killer’s masked face parallel to your own.

“Well... How do ya like our big reveal, Sunshine?” Stu grins wickedly from behind Sidney.

The deep crimson remnants of the scene you thought you’d witnessed are still making their way down your face, trickling along your tepid skin like raindrops on a car window. You wipe them away fervently, the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you becoming more than you can bear.

It’s not even real blood.

“What is this?” You utter nauseously, gesturing to the foreign substance coating your face.

It’s probably the least important question you could be asking right now but you’ll admit the two of them have put on quite the performance. You’re sickened, but you’re curious.

Billy removes his mask, stepping closer to you and wiping a drop of the mystery liquid from your cheek, ignoring the way you flinch at his touch and placing the finger onto his tongue he lets out a low hum of approval, “’S’Corn syrup, Doll. Same stuff they used for pig’s blood in Carrie.”

Jesus.

Sid freed herself from Stu’s grip, him and Billy now distractedly gazing at you with distinguishable looks of pride. You gesture your head near-imperceptibly toward the entryway, a silent request for her to run while she has the chance. She hesitates, clearly apprehensive about leaving you to fend for yourself with two armed maniacs, but you need her to go. You can attempt your own escape when you know she’s safe.

“You had me fooled,” You start in a desperate effort to maintain their attention, “I mean, I had my doubts- But that whole fake death scene upstairs? You guys really sold it.” Sid discreetly makes her way to the entryway, stopping to look at you with a final questioning look on her weary face.

Nodding your head near invisibly, you make the devastating mistake of sweeping your eyes over her frame to survey her injuries. It was quick, a nanosecond at most before your gaze was back in front of you, but it wasn’t quick enough to go unnoticed by Billy, who grabs ahold of his knife and has it pointed against Sid’s throat in a matter of seconds.

Billy and Stu launch into a certifiably demented rant, their words exploding on Sidney in a particularly violent manner.

Why would they have it out for Sid specifically?

Oh.

Billy turns toward you and ends his dialogue without warning when he recognizes the look of understanding on your features.

“You killed her,” You breathe a near sigh of relief, finally understanding the bigger picture, “You killed Maureen and you’ve spent the last- Who fucking knows how long you’ve spent, just planning this- All to torture Sid.” It’s all making so much fucking sense and you can’t believe the amount of time it’s taken you to piece it all together, “You killed Casey Becker too, ‘cause she sits next to Sid in English. You knew she’d see that empty seat every day and be reminded of her mom. Psychological warfare…”

Billy looks uncharacteristically proud watching you piece it all together, “Got it in one, (y/n).”

“You’re- You’re sick! Why? Why the fuck would you do that?” Sidney struggles in Billy’s hold as he explains his motive behind her mother’s murder.

Mommy issues. Figures you’d have that in common.

Stu looks outwardly surprised at Billy’s reveal, indirectly confirming your dad’s two person theory. One killer with a personal connection to the victim and the other just in it for the thrill of the hunt. Dad’s gonna be so pissed he missed this, you regard inwardly.

“How are you gonna do it then?” You question the two unjustly handsome lunatics.

“Do what, Sweetheart?” Billy asks benevolently from beside Sid, still holding the tip of his blade to her neck.

“How are you gonna kill me?” You probe.

The question is a test. You’ve got a theory that they didn’t plan far enough ahead to remember that your dad will hunt them down to the ends of the earth after you die, especially since they haven’t seemed particularly keen on covering their trail. If you figured them out this quickly, your dad would have them behind bars in no time.

“What?” Billy asks, all previous traces of jubilance promptly removed from his face.

“How are you going to kill me?” You repeat tauntingly, if your best friends since elementary school were going to kill you like it was nothing, you were going to enjoy the thought of them spending the rest of their lives in florescent orange jumpsuits, “Spare me the gory details but, you do know what FBI stands for, right? Good luck getting away with it this time.” Thankfully, your voice manages to come out far more confident than you’re feeling inside.

Stu moves from beside you to in front of you, gently placing his sizeable hands on either side of your face. Has he always been this tall? Craning your neck to look up at him, the smug smile you managed to plaster on slides off and morphs into confusion as you notice the doleful look on his face. Why is he looking at you like you just kicked his puppy?

“You can’t really believe that,” His voice is so gentle, you could almost forget the sheer lunacy that was dripping from it moments ago, “What did I tell you, Sunshine? I’m never gonna let you go.” He’s looking at your lips like he wants to kiss them, and if you were under any other circumstance, there’d be nothing to keep you from it. He leans in and you almost move to do the same before you hear Sidney’s panicked voice calling out.

“Leave her alone! Please. If you want to kill me then fucking do it already, just let (y/n) go!”

Right, this is an active hostage situation.

Stu let his guard down to console you. Both of his hands on your head means he’s no longer holding the gun, but there’s no easy way to go about gaining control of it. You could kick him in the shins and hope he stays distracted long enough, but your dad’s voice runs through your mind once again, “You can’t reason with a psychopath (y/n), but sometimes you can play along with their fantasy to gain their trust.” You know this isn’t what he had in mind, but you’re running out of options.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lean up on your toes and kiss Stu with fervour. It’s a good kiss, one of the best you’ve ever had, in fact. There’s a moment, just a split second while you’re reaching for the gun behind his back, that you wish it was for real. He pulls you in deeper and you try to convince yourself that you’re only kissing back to make it believable.

Finally you feel the cool metallic handle of the gun, gripping onto it firmly you muster up the strength to pull back from Stu’s embrace. Aiming the barrel between him and Billy, you can almost feel your heart crack at the look of betrayal painted upon Stu’s face.

No, you remind yourself sternly, they kill people. For fun. They’re not your best friends anymore, they’re murderers.

“Let her go.” You ignore the internal war waging between your heart and your mind.

“(y/n)…” Billy’s not as shocked as Stu. As a matter of fact, Billy’s not shocked at all. He knows you, almost better than you know yourself, “Put the gun down. You’re not gonna shoot us.” His voice is stern, his words a cross between a warning and a command.

He’s right, as usual. The one thing your dad could never get you to do was shoot a gun. You fucking hate those things.

“You’re right, I’m not gonna shoot you,” Your voice is even, but you know he picks up on the slight shake of your hands as you aim the gun toward his chest, “As long as you let her go.”

“That’s not gonna happen, Doll.” He shakes his head, frustration rapidly becoming anger “I’m not asking you again (y/n). Put it down. Now.”

“Or what?” You bluff in a last ditch attempt to maintain a facade of bravery.

Billy’s anger finally reaches its boiling point and he answers your question wordlessly.

It’s different than it looks in the movies. The blood doesn’t trickle out slowly and melodramatically. It spews out like a faucet and it never stops.

You drop the gun after that, rushing to sit at Sid’s side on the floor in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. It was a single deep slash, clean across her throat. The quiet gurgling sounds of blood filling her lungs finally subside after her last breath sounds, and your crimson stained hands remove themselves from her neck.

“Now, are you gonna start listening to me? Or do I have to do somethin’ like that again?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You know what’s wrong with him, with both of them. They’re psychopaths. But you can’t prevent the question from slipping past your lips, you’re desperate for some understanding as to what exactly is it is they intend to gain from their whole plan.

“What’s wrong with me? I told you to put the fuckin’ thing down!” Billy’s still angry, what’s new? “Shit! That’s not how it was supposed to go.” His agitation fading slightly into discontent. Clearly he wanted to take his time killing Sid. At least you spared her some suffering.

“We gotta get out of here Billy. It’s only a matter of time before the cops show up.” Stu’s voice sounds, entirely indifferent to the scene he just witnessed.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Billy runs his left hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration, his right hand latched firmly on the gun you dropped after he slit Sidney’s throat, “Shit! Alright, let’s go.” He gestures his head to the door, his eyes haven’t left you since your little standoff, making it clear that he’s talking to you.

“What?” Your voice is laced with perplexion. He can’t seriously expect you to walk out of there with them.

Right?

“C’mon, Sunshine. You already got him in a mood, don’t make it any worse.” Stu’s voice holds that ever present hint of amusement, as if this is just like old times, when you and Stu would make one too many jokes at Billy’s expense and he’d spend the rest of the day sulking.

“I’m not- You can’t actually think I’m going anywhere with you,” You chuckle in disbelief, “You just killed my best friends!” You don’t have explicit confirmation that Randy and Tatum are dead too, but considering the current state of affairs, it’s reasonably obvious.

“We’re your best friends, (y/n). We’re more than that, actually.” Billy kneels down in front of you on the kitchen floor. His anger has finally subsided, he’s speaking in a normal tone, the sticky crimson remnants on your hands serve as the only reminder of his previous outburst.

“That was before-”

“Oh come on, Doll,” He cuts you off, calloused fingers wiping the excess corn syrup from your face, “You ever wonder why the daughter of an FBI profiler couldn’t figure out there was something off with us?” His grin is wicked but his touch is gentle, almost comforting, “It’s ‘cause you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t want anything to get between us, because you feel the same way about us that we do about you.”

You want to tell him to fuck off. That he’s crazy and you have no idea what he’s talking about. But you can’t. Because he’s right, he’s right and he knows it.

Taking your silence as confirmation he continues, delicately tracing your cheek with his nimble fingers, “You love us,” Stu makes his way to your side, smiling with dimples on full display as Billy speaks, “And you can try and deny it, if you want to. But we all know the truth.”

“So what if I did?” You finally find your voice, it’s shakier than you’d like but it’s there, “If you know me as well as you think you do, then you know there’s no way in hell I’d go anywhere with you after this.”

“You wanna know how well I know you?” Billy’s voice is sharp, bitter, you’re getting under his skin again, “I know you, (y/n). I know you’re not afraid of masked killers, or watching your friend die,” He releases you from his grip, standing back to his full height as his words permeate your brain, “I know your worst fear.” He gestures for Stu to follow as he takes small leisurely steps toward the doorway, ignoring the look of confusion and panic on Stu’s face at the prospect of leaving there without you.

Stu reluctantly follows Billy toward the exit, not removing his eyes from your enervated form. When they finally reach the doorway Billy resumes his speech, a contemptuous tone lacing his voice, “Being left here all alone.” He says simply.

This is your own fault, really. Allowing someone to get so close to you, learn everything about you, use everything they’ve learned against you.

You could argue that he’s wrong, but he’s not.

You could go out fighting, but you don’t.

You could stay sitting on the floor until the police inevitably discover you, but you won’t.

Billy walks back over to you, offering you a hand with a mischievous glint present in his eyes, “So,” He starts devilishly, “What’s it gonna be, Doll?”

#scream 1996 #my stuff

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pray4byron · 3 months

Note

Requests are back open woo! How do you feel about platonic Alastor and male teen reader? Like he was around when Alastor was alive, same time period? And reader would sell newspapers to Al on the street. Reader could be a an orphan during the great depression hinting what Al said in the pilot. Reader is a huge fan of Alastor. When reader dies he willingly works for Alastor. And dont get me wrong! But i would kill to see Alastor and Lucifer just try to one up each other about who’s kid is better. If you don’t wish to do this i understand.

yeah, requests are back open!! huzah!!! but this is actually so cute what the flip, i’m gonna spend all my time thinking about this now KAHSBBSNSBSBAB

i’m imagining this kid to be ages like 11-14 btw so i hope that’s fine!!

Warnings: None(?)

Alastor + M!Teen!Reader

“Hey, young one!” Alastor says, you turn your head to face the much taller deer-like man, “I need you to go run a few errands for me,” Alastor says, you nod your head enthusiastically, as much as Alastor wasn’t the most sane man ever, he was the coolest person in your book — he could do anything!

“I have to stay here, at the hotel, and handle some business, so be a good lad and drop this off to Rosie, off in Cannibal Town,” Alastor explained, softly dropping a medium-sized gift box in your hands, “If anyone gives you any trouble, use that small, cellular object to contact Angel, to my dismay, he said he’d take care of it, if worst comes to worst, contact me, I’ll have it on me, but remember, I only use it when I have to, understood?” Alastor confirmed, looking down at you.

You gave him a nod with a smile as you exited the hotel lobby and left off to your adventure in Cannibal Town.

“Heh, imagine needing a child to run your errands.” Lucifer remarked with a smirk smudged on his face, Alastor snapped his neck in his direction, “A reliable and trustworthy child at that, don’t mistake him for less than he is.” Alastor said, the grin on his face tightening at the ends in annoyance.

“Mediocre, at best.” Lucifer mumbled, did he really mean it? No, the kid was actually pretty neat. But after the fued Alastor and Lucifer had about Charlie, everything became a competition.

“My kid is so much better than yours.” Lucifer said, more confidently then before, puffing his chest out.

“Prove it.” Alastor said, his static getting more noticeable.

“I bet that squirt won’t be back in 20 minutes.” Lucifer proposed, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Yes, he fucking will.” Alastor said, his eyes darting at Lucifer, his smile still on his face.

It had been two hours. Two hours, since you’d left.

Alastor was moments away from beginning to pace, his grin was strained, and Lucifer couldn’t help but grin as the clock continued to tick.

All of a sudden, a small boy, being you, burst through the door.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Angel asked from the bar, his tone unreadable, but it was obvious he wasn’t upset.

“Talking with Rosie.” You answered, eyes innocent.

Alastor felt a bit of him die on the inside, as Lucifer snorted.

“She’s a nice lady.” You started. “She gave me tea. And offered me a leg.”

#reqs open #x reader #hazbin hotel #mio’s writing ! ☆#fanfiction #x y/n #x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor

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c-nstantine · 2 months

Note

Oooh I have an idea about Bruce and Batmom. So Batmom has a big tattoo that travels from the top of her thigh to her back. it’s like pretty flowers and the details are beautiful it’s stunning and it’s very eye catching. Bruce loves the tattoo especially when she flexes it gets him going. When it’s time to go to a fancy party or date night he always suggests Batmom to wear a high slit backless dress just so he can catch a glimpse of her ink

This reminds me that I was supposed to write a fic based on Beyonce's partition but just never got around to it.

Y/N was honestly surprised that she and her husband made it out of the house. Bruce had been begging her to wear this custom dress to one of their events and tonight she finally gave in. However, she didn't know that the reason Bruce loved this dress so much was because it showed off her tattoos. The high slit and low back left little to be imagined but Bruce loved the way the ink peaked from the motion of the dress. He also had it made in his favorite color on her so that the color complimented her skin tone perfectly.

"Bruce?" Her husband had been absent-mindedly tracing her tattoo as they were being chauffeured to some rich person's charity event.

"Hm?" He hummed as his hand trailed further up her thigh. His fingers traced the delicate intricacies as some mediocre pop song played on the radio.

"Focus, see this is why I never wear this stuff out of the house," She snapped her fingers in front of his face and he flinched back looking at her with his crystal blue eyes.

"I, for one, think you look stunning. Downright delectable," He placed her hand in his and pressed it to his lips for a gentle kiss. She rolled her eyes at his attempts to woo her but soon his hand was back on her thigh and he reached over to place a kiss on her neck.

"Sometimes I wonder why I married you," She remarked tilting her head to allow him better access.

"My money and dashing good looks. What if we took a little detour?" He was so close to signaling the driver to find some alleyway to park in and telling him to take a hike for an hour.

"No, no. Do you remember the last time we showed up to an event and you had lipstick on your collar?" She gently pushed his head away as she reminded him of the last time they took a little 'detour'. It ended with them being an hour late to the event, a very embarrassed driver, her lipstick gone, her baby hairs were no longer swooped, and Bruce's cheek and collar were stained. She was just happy no one noticed the lipstick smudge near his pant zipper.

"No, but I do remember the dress you wearing that night," He grumbled and decided to keep his hands to himself for right now.

"You're insatiable," She pulled out a small contact mirror to make sure everything about her makeup was still in place.

"Only for you," He kissed her cheek right before exiting the car for the event. Y/N sighed at the thought of this being a long night.

Taglist: @flyestvenustrap @megamindsecretlair @blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon @lilbanas @certifiedloverwoman @melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #black!batmom #bruce wayne x black reader #bruce wayne x black!batmom

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blushhingblue · 9 months

Text

Regular Customer

Yandere!Love Quinn x Reader age gap, kidnapping

As per usual, around half past twelve, the door of Love’s bakery would chime, and in would walk her favorite customer. Love’s face would beam in excitement, a welcoming smile plastered across her face. You slid up to the counter and returned her smile. Before you could mutter a word, she was already making your coffee just the way you liked it.

"How are you, Love?" you inquired.

She stopped facing the coffee machine only for a second to look over her shoulder. Her eyes were longing to admire your face, but she swiftly looked away as you were already looking at her.

"I’m hanging in there. Henry is doing well, though. He’s with my mom since Joe’s at work," she explained.

She wanted you to know every little detail about her life. She figured if you knew everything, you were somehow indirectly part of her personal life itself. She handed you your coffee, and as you tried to hand her money, she shook her head and pushed it away.

"Come on. You have to let me pay at least once."

She shook her head stubbornly, but your hand was stubborn too, not refusing to move. Eventually, realizing she wasn’t going to take it, you shoved it in the tip jar and headed out the door.

"See you tomorrow!" She called out as the door closed.

Her heart was left beating irregularly. The rest of the day, there were mediocre customers, none of whom radiated like you. Whenever you weren’t around, she was desperate for you to be. As she arrived home, she was met with a familiar darkness and cold. A household where love used to be so vibrant and alive was now devoid of anything.

Joe was gone. Love knew he was out preying on some woman, as if he didn’t have a wife at home. When they first moved and Joe started obsessing over Natalie, it hurt, but now she didn’t feel anything towards him except resentment. She headed upstairs to Henry’s room and saw her mother putting him to sleep.

"Thank you. I really appreciate you being here," Love said.

Dottie placed a hand over her heart and said, "Of course, anything for my grandson."

Love was surprised she didn’t get a snarky remark as she walked Dottie out. She checked the time. It read 9:37, and Joe still wasn’t home. Love didn’t really care, but it felt like time went by so slowly when you weren’t near.

She sat on the couch with her head in her hands, thinking about all the things she wanted to do with you. She wants to hold your hands and kiss your sweet lips. She wants to buy a house and grow old with you. That’s when she decided tomorrow was going to be the day she did something about it.

The next day, Love was noticeably nervous while serving customers. Her hands were shaking so rapidly that she even dropped a cupcake. When she had no one to serve, she kept an attentive eye on the clock. It was four in the afternoon. Where were you? She began to feel anxious, like something bad had happened to you. Just as her nerves were beginning to boil over, you walked in.

"Y/N! You’re here!" She practically shouted, her hands slapping down onto the counter in excitement.

"Yeah. Here I am," you said in a questioning tone with an eyebrow raised. "What has you so excited?"

"Just my favorite customer," Love said, already about to go make your regular.

You gently grabbed her by the wrist to stop her. She felt her heartbeat begin to rise as a faint pink blush covered her pale cheeks. Your touch was so light yet had such an effect on her. At this very moment, Love was practically putty in your hands.

"I think it’s a tad bit late for coffee, and you’ve probably been working so hard all day. Why don’t we sit down?"

The light pink hue on her cheeks had grown into a blazing red. She felt as though she was going to pass out. That was until you let go of her wrist. Now that she’s felt your touch, she can’t go back to not having it. You pulled out a chair for her, and she quickly scurried over like a lost puppy.

"Thank you," she muttered.

What was happening? Love was usually so outgoing and boisterous. How had you made her so shy?

"Love, I’ve been thinking," you started, but took a deep breath to release your nerves. "You’re a beautiful, mature woman, and admittedly, I’ve developed some feelings for you."

At this very moment, Love felt her world light up. You were going to be the one she came home to, cuddled to sleep with, and folded laundry with. You were the one. She immediately reached over the table and grabbed your hand, just enjoying the warmth it expelled.

"And that’s why this is so hard,"

Both Love’s smile and mood dropped. She felt your hand loosen from her grasp, though Love didn’t let go.

"You’re 28 and I’m 19. This will never work. Besides, you’re a married woman with a child."

Y/N, we can make it work!" Love cried, practically begging for you to stay with her: "I don’t even love him!"

"I think that's a problem for you to figure out with him. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that this is the last time you'll see me. I want these feelings I have for you to go away, and that can't happen if I'm seeing you every day," you explained.

You tugged your hand out of her tight grip. Love knew she had to think fast. She couldn't let you go, not now and not ever.

"Wait Y/N. Let me at least give you a goodbye gift. How about a box of treats?" Love suggested, seeming much less sad than she did a few moments ago.

You figured that the idea of her giving you a parting gift made her happier and filled her with some sort of closure, so you obliged. As you nodded, she walked over behind the counter, her steps much more buoyant than before. In a large box, she placed a mélange of Danishes, cupcakes, tarts, and just about every other pastry available.

"What do I owe you?" you asked, taking your wallet out of your pocket.

"Nothing, silly. This is a gift." Love giggled childishly and handed you the heavy box of treats.

"Thank you, Love, You've always been so kind to me, and I'm sorry I ended our friendship." You apologized, a sad glint masking your eyes.

"I'm sorry, too,"

"For what?"

Just then, you noticed she only handed the unusually heavy box to you with one hand and had the other positioned behind her back. Before you could connect the dots and save yourself, she took a rolling pill out from behind herself and hit you over the head with it.

When you awoke several hours later, you were lying on a hard floor with a single, thin blanket underneath you. In confusion, you looked up and saw that you were trapped in a glass cage full of baking supplies. That's when everything came rushing back to you. You touched your head and winced as you pressed the gauze.

Although severely panicked, you tried to think rationally and push open the door. But, unfortunately, Love wasn't stupid, and she wouldn't make such a foolish mistake. Next, you tried to open the box that you can only assume Love would give you food and other small necessities through. This time it actually worked, but the opposite side wasn't openable. Lastly, you began to look through the nooks and crannies of the cage, hoping to find a key. Though when you found nothing, you knew it was helpless. You sat back down and pondered your options.

"Speak of the devil," you mumbled under your breath as you saw her peek out from behind a wall.

"Hi sweetheart!"

"Love, where the fuck am I?" you yelled, raising your voice at her for the first time ever.

All Love could do was smile and place her hand on the glass.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal for you, but it's either this or you leave me forever, and I couldn't deal with even the thought of that."

You didn't say anything and only looked at the floor.

"I promise, once I know you won't try to leave me, I'll let you out. Once that happens, we can raise Henry together." She swooned at the idea of becoming a family.

"What about Joe? How could you betray him like this?"

"Don't worry about Joe; he's taken care of, and I didn't betray him. I was once in love with him too, but once he saw the side of me that you're seeing, he didn't reciprocate my feelings anymore. He moved on and began preying on other women. I knew I couldn't win him back, but then you started coming to my bakery, and all the feelings I once felt for him, I began to feel for you," she explained.

"I don't blame him for wanting to leave once he saw this. I want to as well."

Love frowned. "I'll come back when you've adjusted better."

She began to grab her belongings.

"Wait, Love,"

She turned around, expecting an apology or a love proclamation, but that was wishful thinking.

"Do you have anything for me to eat?" You asked.

She scoffed in response and stomped away and up the stairs. You sighed and began to accept your fate.

#you #yandere #love quinn #love quinn x reader #love quinn x you #yandere love quinn x reader #yandere love #joe goldberg

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ddarker-dreams · 10 months

Text

one of yan scaramouche's most difficult traits to navigate is his unreasonable jealousy.

it bleeds into everything, permanently staining numerous interactions a hot, angry red. he thinks he hides it well but he doesn't. what makes matters worse are the lengths he goes to convince himself he isn't being unreasonable, so as not to endanger his fragile hubris. if he ever were to do some serious soul-searching (don't hold out for this, it's not going to happen), he'd come to the bitter root of this issue; his fear of abandonment. this unsightly weed festers in his subconscious and has grown to such a monstrous size that any hypothetical soul-searching could be wrapped up in like, two minutes flat.

(he still isn't going to go spelunking through the mire that is his feelings though and you're forced to weather the consequences).

scaramouche considers your attention a finite resource more valuable than glittering gold. it's just... nice, how after a long day of dealing with idiots, he can come home to the only person he likes. every moment he spends in your vicinity he expects to be the only thing on your mind. why shouldn't be be? he knows his appearance is attractive, he's interesting, and the fact he's willingly spending time with you should be the highest compliment. so why aren't you putting that book down when he's right there.

are you actively trying to spite him?

he knows the secrets of the universe and you're over here waving him off like he's a fly because you're reading some low-quality light novel likely published by that insufferable kitsune. hey, did you know that this celestia humanity reveres is little more than a glorified prison? that there is a higher power that even the archons must answer to? crazy, right? how everything you've believed your entire life is probably a lie, that he's dispelling right here, right now—

you have the audacity to tell him that's nice, as you flip the page of your mediocre book. he's internally seething. the audacity you have to blow him off is nothing short of appalling. it's difficult to focus on your story when you feel daggers being glared into you. he isn't going to outright confess that you neglecting him is stirring up such a negative tempest of emotions, yet he won't leave you alone either. he's going to sit there, tapping his foot, arms crossed over his chest until you're finished you're oh so important task.

the following day, when you go to pick up the book, you find it's nowhere to be seen. the fatui grunts stationed to watch you refuse to offer any explanation, which, at this point, confirms scaramouche's involvement. he returns that evening with a pep in his step. he's already thinking of all the cute faces you'll make when he makes his wry remarks, how he'll whisper into your ear and get you all flustered—

aaaand now you're working on a book. he can't so easily do away with this infraction because he's secretly kinda curious how it'll turn out, the insights it'll give him into your mind... still, he's far from happy about the development. expect your manuscripts to have corrections written on them every morning. he's petty like that.

#he is so annoying. love that for him #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche brainrot #concepts

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